Our Vinnie (6 page)

They lapsed into silence then and June, her happy mood having drained away as quickly as her halves had, half-wished she’d not even brought the letter with her. The thought of the months ahead – no Vinnie, Titch with a face like a slapped arse, Jock being Jock – was just too depressing to think about. No, Mo was right. She needed to write back. He’d be bound to be waiting to hear from her, bless him. She was almost glad when the bell went for drinking up at 10.30. With Don off limits, and the letter still calling to her from her handbag, even the Bull couldn’t work its charm tonight.

They left the pub, fur coats clasped to their throats to keep the bitter cold out. The rows of council houses opposite were now mostly in darkness and the leafless trees that lined the main road took on a sinister appearance. The estate looked a lot less friendly on a night time.

June felt the breeze stir her hair and shivered involuntarily. ‘You walking back through the snicket, Mo, or coming down our street?’

Maureen shook her head. ‘Too cold for the long way tonight. I’ll cut through the snicket.’

June cast about to see who was around. Maybe someone else was headed that way as well. She didn’t like to think of Maureen using the snicket on her own at night. It was always useful being able to use it in daylight, but nights were a different matter entirely. Without streetlights, the footpath served a whole other purpose; for robbings and fights or laying in wait, hidden, for someone with whom you had a grudge. Luckily there were a few others spilling from the pub as well now. ‘Make sure someone walks through with you, then,’ she said. ‘It’s dark up there.’

‘Will you give over, June?’ Maureen laughed, swaying slightly in her slingbacks, the night air catching the scent of her Charlie perfume. Must have spritzed herself in the ladies before coming out. ‘I should be so fucking lucky!’ she said. ‘Steven says I should wear a sign on my back saying “rape me” if I’m to be in with a chance.’

‘He’s a rotten bastard, that husband of yours – and you can tell him that from me. Right then, I’m off. I’ll call round tomorrow when I get sick of looking at face ache.’

‘Be as long as that, will it?’ Maureen joked as she toddled off into the night.

For all that she worried about Maureen, June didn’t mind walking home alone herself. She’d done it for years and its familiarity meant it held no fears. This was her patch – the Bull was only 10 minutes from home – and she’d have been shocked more than frightened if anyone jumped her. Not to mention giving as good as she got, she thought decisively, feeling a giggle form in her throat as the fresh air hit her. Must be more pissed than I thought, she decided, and even as she thought it she felt herself stagger. She giggled again when she heard the wolf whistle behind her, minutes later. Almost home, and automatically smiling to acknowledge her admirer, she was surprised to see that no one was there.

Then a gravelly voice. ‘Over here, June!’ Coming from above.

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was now. Mucky-fucking-Melvin. She continued to walk without turning around.

‘Give us a flash, June,’ he shouted down. ‘All them at the Bull will have had a good look.’

Now she did turn around. ‘Why don’t you just fuck off, you pervy bastard.’

She heard his dirty laugh and his window slamming shortly after. Fucking old pervert. Fancy him having the nerve to have a go at her! He’d know about it soon enough if she told Jock. Which she might do. He’d smash his stinking brains in, good and proper.

But for now she had more important business to attend to. Letting herself in the front door without waking the miserable old fucker up. She slid her key into the lock with as much care and deliberation as she could summon and, though it wasn’t much, she was still pleased to note as the door opened that the downstairs of the house was dark and silent.

Good, she thought. She wouldn’t be having an argument tonight, at least. Which in itself was a rare treat when both of them had been drinking, and as night followed day, knowing Jock, he would have been.

She tottered over to the sofa and sat down heavily, then pulled Vinnie’s letter once again from her handbag, tears pricking behind her eyes as she did so. A picture formed in her mind, of a cold, hard prison bed. She tried to ignore it. It was just the drink – stupid mare – making her feel all weepy. Perhaps she should just put it away and go to bed. But then she thought of her poor boy, banged up, and how much he’d be missing his home comforts. No, she decided, she’d stay down here tonight.

She was comfy enough anyway, she thought, pushing the letter back into the black hole of her handbag. She’d just get her tights off – she hauled herself up again – just her tights, and then she’d be done for the night. But she’d barely got her thumbs under the waistband and started tugging when her balance went – oops! She really
must
be more tiddled than she’d realised – and fell back heavily. She was fast asleep in seconds.

When Josie came down in the morning, it was to find her mother sound asleep and dribbling, with her tights round her thighs. She stepped past her and, trying to be as quiet as she could, knelt down, laid and lit a fresh fire. That done, and with June still comatose and snoring behind her, she crossed the cold lino onto the square of old carpet that served as a rug, went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea.

It was only when she’d done that and poured herself a cup that she became aware of her mother stirring in the lounge.

‘Have you shit the bed or something?’ she wanted to know, seeing Josie standing there, mug in hand. ‘What you doing up so early?’

June passed by her then, to go into the little toilet just off the kitchen, leaving the door open so she could continue the conversation from there.

‘I’ve got school, Mam,’ Josie answered, over the sound of June having her morning pee.

‘And where’s your dad?’ June wanted to know.

‘He’s still in bed. Mam, it’s only half seven.’

She turned then, grabbed a cup and poured her mum some tea as well. Then heard the flush.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ June said emerging and taking the cup. ‘Ta, love. What bleeding day is it, anyway?’

‘Oh, Mother, it’s Friday. Are you still pissed or something?’

‘Hey, gobby,’ June snapped at her. ‘Shut it before you get a slap. I don’t normally go out on a Thursday night, do I? I just forgot where I was for a minute.’

She stumbled back out, and Josie wasn’t sure if she wasn’t still pissed. What a state. Oh, her mates might think June was really funny, with her hair and her make-up and her holding court all the time. Thought she was lucky – some had said as much – to have a mum who was such a laugh; one who got all dressed up and went partying. Well, they wouldn’t think that if they could see her like this, would they? All panda eyes and her ‘gorgeous Marilyn Monroe hair’, as she called it, looking like a heap of fairground candyfloss stuck on her head. Not to mention those tights, which she’d only half pulled back up, by the look of it. Not a pretty sight at half seven in the morning.

June called back to her, then. ‘Josie, have
you
lit this fire?’

‘Yes, I did. I thought you would be cold when you woke up.’

June looked impressed. ‘Good lass!’ she commented. I didn’t think you knew how to do it.’

But Josie didn’t bother answering because immediately she’d said that, she’d switched on the radio at her usual ridiculous volume, and drowned every other sound out.

Josie finished her tea and went to find her pumps to put in her bag. It was PE today, but she wouldn’t be changing. She gave herself a pat down to reassure herself she had her shorts and T-shirt on under her uniform. Better that than have to undress in front of everyone.

‘I’ll see you later, Mam,’ she called on her way out.

Josie first needed to walk up the street to get to the snicket – she’d usually cut through there to meet Carol and walk to school. It was something she’d done unthinkingly for almost all of her life. Years and years, now – up the road, into the snicket, out into the football field, and then on up the road to St Michael’s. But now everything was different. Now, when she passed Mucky Melvin’s, she held her breath. Fixed her eyes straight ahead and forced herself not to look – otherwise it felt like she might be struck down dead. It was like that game – at least, that’s how she decided she’d have to think about it – that game where you dare not step on cracks in the pavement. You could die if you did that, as well.

Only when she’d hurried far enough up the street, did she start to properly breathe again. She then ran through the snicket fast enough to feel her breath coming in gasps, slowing only as she made the football field and stopped to wait for Carol, the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.

Carol was Josie’s best mate in the world. They had gone to St Michael’s together since they were five, and had always stuck up for each other. Carol, who was plump and worldly-wise about most things, had dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. A lot of the other kids called her ‘Paki’, but that wasn’t true. Her dad had left when she was a baby, but he wasn’t a Paki. He was an Egyptian and he was loaded, and some day he was going to come back again and give Carol and her mum loads of jewels and stuff from the pyramids. Then they’d be sorry, all them that called her nasty names.

Carol was also a fighter, just like she was, and if anyone ever called her a ginger nut, Carol would be right by her side helping dole out the sort of punishment that ensured it never happened again.

She was coming into view now and Josie waved. ‘Hurry up,’ she called, causing Carol to break into a run. ‘Or we’re going to be late again!’

‘Me mum’s hopeless, Titch,’ Caz said as she fell into step alongside her. ‘Didn’t get me up in time.
Again
.’

It was the same every day, almost, and Josie found herself reflecting on why it was that she didn’t need anyone to get
her
up just now. She’d only have to stir, and the pictures would flood into her brain, making her sweat and want to cry and cry and cry. She pushed the thoughts away, preferring to let Carol chatter on. About their school project, which was on the Vikings. About Jennifer Armitage, who had nits. About Mickey, a 12-year-old boy in their school who was totally in love with Carol. Or so she said.

‘I swear, Titch – you should have seen how he looked at me when I was walking home yesterday. He wants to be my boyfriend, I just know it.’

Josie didn’t know anything much about boyfriends, and didn’t want to. Yes, she knew about
boys
– and about Vinnie and his friends, more than she perhaps ought to. But boyfriends … she shuddered. All that now felt like a very frightening place.

But Carol seemed older and not at all frightened. Should she tell her?
Dare
she?

‘Don’t you think?’ Carol was saying, stopping for a moment on the grass.

Josie hauled her thoughts back to order. ‘Do you want me to ask him for you?’

‘Would you?’ Carol’s eyes widened. ‘Would you really? Don’t let on that I know though, will you?’

They continued walking, arm in arm. The field had a low, greyish mist still hanging over it. Josie liked the mist. And the space. And the sense that you could run through it. That you could run and run and maybe even disappear into it. ‘Course I won’t,’ she said. ‘I’ll say I’m just wondering, that’s all.’

‘Ta,’ Carol said. ‘Today, then? And, you know – if you fancy someone, just let me know, yeah? And I’ll ask them for you, okay?’

Josie couldn’t think of anything she’d like less. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time then, Caz,’ she said. ‘Boys are shit bags.’

Carol giggled and squeezed Josie’s arm tighter. ‘My mum said I’m a bit more forward than you,’ she told her. ‘When you catch up, you’ll fancy boys. You’ll see.’

Josie thought this was a stupid thing to say. They were both 11 now – she’d just had her birthday. How on earth could she ‘catch up’ – even if she wanted to? She looked at her friend and wondered if the Devil really could hear everything she said and thought. It must be true because the nuns who taught them sometimes had even said so. She and Carol were blood sisters so they shouldn’t have secrets. They’d made cuts on each other’s wrists and rubbed them together, and that meant they were bound together for life. And now it was all going to be ruined, because Josie had a bad secret that she couldn’t share.

Josie suddenly wished with all her heart that Vinnie was home. She thought of his letter and how badly she wanted to write back to him, but how scared she felt about actually doing so. He could read her like a book – he’d told her that once. What did that mean exactly? She wasn’t sure, but she was frightened. That whatever she did or didn’t say, somehow he’d just
know
. Her head was starting to hurt now. The pictures were beginning to flood her brain again. She decided not to think for a while, just go to school and get the day over with. Just like she had every day since.

Melvin stood in his window for some minutes after Titch had passed by, smiling to himself as he finally lowered the grimy makeshift curtain. It was something to get out of bed for, was the sight of her hurrying along the road, and he’d been up for a sneaky peek every school morning since.

Satisfied, he crossed the room again, and got back into bed, already sliding his hand down inside his filthy pyjama bottoms.

Chapter 5

Dear Vinnie

Nice to hear from you, son. I hope you’re keeping well. Everybody keeps asking about you and I keep telling them how well you’re doing. You need to knock the stealing off, Vin, or they’ll bloody keep you there for ever. Saggy Sally came round the other day, she said you and your friends are getting into trouble all the time, fighting and that. If you want to be home after Christmas, love, you’ll have to settle down. Your dad said hello. Miserable prat wouldn’t give me any money to send you though. I’ve just sent enough for some baccy and papers. I will send you some more on Monday when I get my family allowance. I’m not talking to our Lyndsey yet, but the kids have been down so I asked our Robbie if he could bring me a poster for you. Our Josie is writing to you as well but she said she will post hers herself. Silly get said that she doesn’t want me nosing at her letter. Well, for being clever, she will have to buy her own stamp now, won’t she? I’m sorting something out with Sally to get down for a visit but she said it might not be for another week or two. She said you have to start being good first. So the way you’re going, I might never bleeding get to see you. Hope you like the photos I’ve sent. All my mates say that I look like a film star on that one of me; I think they mean Marilyn Monroe, with my blonde hair. Ha-ha, just joking. Right Vinnie, I have to go now, but I’ll write again next week.